Game, Set and Match
by Lavender and Hay
Summary: Written for the prompt: Violet walks in on Richard kissing Isobel.


"Richard!" she hissed as soon as she had followed him into the corridor and firmly shut the sitting room door behind herself, "Come back, I want a word with you!"

She saw his frame freeze, tense, in silhouette from the light in the porch. For a few seconds he stood there completely still, facing away from her. For some reason, she got the impression that he might be rolling his eyes at her- well, it wouldn't be the first time that had happened- and this only quickened her annoyance with him. But as she made her way swiftly down the corridor towards him he did turn to face her; his face wearing the weary expression she had predicted. If anything this only acted to incense her more.

"Just what do you mean by saying things like that about me in front of Lady Grantham?" she demanded in a low, but nevertheless murderous voice.

"Like what?" he asked, frowning, his look of bewildered weariness increasing.

"You know very well," she told him sharply, "You and your ridiculous analogies."

"Ah. Well," he leant backwards a little awkwardly, conscious of her rather over-bearing stance, "You have to admit, I did have a point. She was right."

"As a matter of fact, I don't," she replied, "I don't care to admit that she was right at all. She simply disclosed matters when it suited her in order to make me look a fool. Not that she needed to, with the ample help she got from you. Why do you do it, Richard?"

His eyes closed tiredly for a second.

"Are you sure you wouldn't rather discuss this somewhere else?" he asked.

"I'm sure I wouldn't," she replied swiftly.

He let out a heavy sigh.

"Isobel," he told her quietly, "I don't know what it is that you think I do, or am trying to do, but-..."

"What I don't understand," she told him plainly, "Is how you can be so kind to me when we're alone together, and then humiliate me so badly in front of Cousin Violet."

He let out another sigh.

"I'm not trying to humiliate you," he told her gently, "Anything but. I'm sorry you felt that I was."

"Still," she pressed, admittedly less fervently than before, "Why _do_ you do it, Richard?"

"I don't know," he replied at last, unable to think of anything else to say, "I didn't realise," and then, again, "I'm sorry."

Slowly, it dawned on her that he was in earnest; he hadn't meant to show her up, really, he hadn't, he had just managed to rather well, with his characteristic misplaced success. She felt herself softening a little. There was a long silence.

"Lady Grantham says that I care about things too much," she admitted to him finally, almost by way of a confession, her voice rather small, "Well, I suppose this rather proves it."

He shook his head.

"You don't care too much, Isobel. You care a lot. An awful lot, about many things. But there's definitely a difference."

She smiled weakly at him.

"Thank you," she replied, "That's a very kind thing to say."

"That's the very least you deserve, after the way I upset you," he told her, "That was careless of me."

"It doesn't matter," she told him, in a small voice.

"It does," he told her, regaining the step he'd taken away before, "I should have been more considerate. It's the last thing I want, Isobel."

"What, to be considerate?"

"No, to upset you."

"Oh," she smiled, her eyes closing for a second, "I see."

As her eyes opened, they flitted upwards into his

"Do you forgive me?" he asked. He was speaking in little more than a whisper.

"Yes," she replied, smiling softly at him, "I suppose."

And somehow, unable to take any steps closer together, they were leaning towards each other; closer, closer; and their lips were meeting, briefly, softly.

She was hard pressed not to moan, she felt herself shudder. Her eyes flitted back up to his.

"What on earth just happened, Richard?"

"I could ask the very same thing."

Hearts sinking, they wheeled round at the sound of the familiar voice. An eyebrow raised dangerously, Cousin Violet stood in the corridor regarding them both with a look of perfect astonishment. Isobel felt a small smile forming on her own lips, thinking that, in certain respects, she could be said to have won this particular round.


End file.
